


and smoke too many cigarettes and love you so much

by nosniam



Category: Secret History - Donna Tartt
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:06:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27558070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nosniam/pseuds/nosniam
Summary: A re-writing of Richard and Francis' summer in New York , right after Henry's death .I'm aware this fic isn't a literary masterpiece by any means - it's very self-indulgent and I wrote it because I was sad and needed some cheesy papenathy to cheer me up . I hope it'll cheer you up too :)
Relationships: Francis Abernathy/Richard Papen
Comments: 2
Kudos: 46





	and smoke too many cigarettes and love you so much

“I think we were just so all in love with each other, so tightly linked , you know ? Sewn together by a thread . When he died , the thread died with him. It’s a shame , but I can’t really imagine it ending in any other way.”

He took a drag from his cigarette , huffed the smoke away from Richard’s face . They were meeting for the first time after everything - Richard was hospitalized during Henry’s funeral , and Francis had been cowardly avoiding him, hiding - from him , from himself .

“I’m sorry. Do you want me to leave you alone , then ? I mean, I’d understand , I don’t want to be traumatic for you-

“Oh , no , no , you don’t count !” He exclaimed .

Richard looked at his glass . He seemed disappointed .

“Not- oh , I’m terrible with words,” Francis continued. “Not like that. You count- you count a lot , actually , I just meant ... “ He sighed, took a sip of his own drink , and gazed through the window . A few long seconds passed before he spoke again .

“I meant , I never truly considered you a part of our circle . And I’m not saying this to insult you , in fact , it’s what drew me to you in the very first place. You were fresh blood .” 

He frowned .

“Oh , I’m saying it all wrong , aren’t I ?”

Losing his words was scary - Francis was so used to being the witty one , but somehow , whenever he tried to formulate what he felt about Richard , his brain went too fast - or too slow - and his mouth never really caught up .

“I’m not insulted. I understand , really - the appeal of novelty. I left California because I wanted to find something new.”

“I want to keep seeing you because you’re so normal, Richard. I mean , what we went through - you know , it was all so crazy .”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“But you seem so … Unscathed . Like it didn’t even matter . You brushed it off so well-”

“I didn’t brush it off. I’ll never forget it . I’ll never forget any of you.”

“Me neither . But it’s all so painful , I can never stop thinking about him - about both of them . And you look just like you always did , you carried on as if nothing happened.”

“I’m just better than you at hiding it.” Richard smiled , finally .

Francis drowned his cigarette in his drink . He looked at Richard pensively.

Richard was unwavering stability. He was an immutable object, met with the all-powerful force of Henry’s illusions of grandeur . And he stood. The idea of his colossal figure chipping away, of it being nothing but a well-crafted mask was too painful to imagine .

For a short instant , Francis thought that was it - that with no confirmation of Richard’s strength , no indication he could be an anchor to which he’d hold onto as he sorted through his own grief , he would lose interest .

But, to his own surprise, he didn’t . He still felt the same - he wanted to cup Richard’s face in his hands , and whisper to him that if he couldn’t be strong for the both of them , then at least they could be weak together .

He realized he felt so much about Richard - so much more than he expected , feelings on which he couldn’t - not yet - put a name on , and it was terrifying .

*******

They were sprawled on the Central Park grass , him pretending to work on his sketchbook , Richard telling him about his job. .

Francis couldn’t help but notice the way Richard had gotten thinner , more muscular , since he left Hampden . How his shirt , with its sleeves rolled up at the elbows , was just a bit small for him , making his arms push against the fabric as he pointed up to a funny-looking cloud .

He had to forcibly tear his eyes away. How had he never realized how pretty Richard had been ? It couldn’t be so recent - two months can only do so much . 

Francis wasn’t really listening to what Richard was telling him - and since Richard didn’t really expect answers , they both slipped into this ritual : every few days , they’d meet in Central Park , Francis deciding on a new spot each time . He’d bring rosé and gougères , and they’d have apéritif , the french way : Richard ranting about his boring dayjob , and Francis nodding along , sketching passerbys .

Richard rolled on his knees , grabbed the bottle and drank from its neck . He caught Francis’ gaze and smiled.

“Draw me like one of your french girls,” he chuckled , moving into a pseudo-seductive pose , a hand holding his head up , the other resting on his hip . 

Francis giggled , but got to work . He realized he didn’t even need to think : he could draw Richard’s eyes , his strong jaw , the way his nose complemented his face so well , all from memory . Had he been stealing glances at him for so long ?

The answer came to him easily : he had always been watching him , in some way or another. He was used to concern and anguish deforming his features , but that day , the sun was so bright , the light breeze so agreeable , and they were both tipsy from fresh rosé : he could only read amusement and curiosity on Richard’s face , and these were new .

He caught himself thinking he would do anything so Richard would keep looking so relaxed. 

“ You look so tense . Don’t worry too much , honestly , no matter how great you are , I don’t think even Da Vinci could make me look handsome on paper”, Richard joked .

“ Oh , you are handsome,” Francis muttered . Richard’s eyebrows rose , and Francis thought he saw him blush , but he turned away.

“I’m just bland , compared to all of you.”

Francis couldn’t read Richard’s face - he could only see his back , his bare neck . He could’ve told him many things : that Henry’s greek hero-like face wasn’t what had made him handsome , how beauty was , after all , superficial . That Richard wasn’t handsome - handsome meant traditionally attractive , it meant a fad , simple prettiness in the face of current fashion and fleeting beauty standards. No , Richard was beautiful , in the way of renaissance painting models. He was timelessly fair , in the most literal sense : his features all balancing each other ; his kind eyes and strong eyebrows , his white shirt and deep brown skin , his muscular shoulders and delicate hands , the softness of his lips and squareness of his jaw .

But he didn’t say anything . They settled in silence , Francis drawing , Richard contemplating the bright sky.

After a moment , Francis stood up , placed his open sketchbook on Richard’s lap , then , swiftly , feigning nonchalance , lit up a cigarette and gazed in the horizon , pointedly avoiding to look at Richard .

He heard the ruffle of fabric - he was probably sitting up - and, after what seemed an eternity, Richard’s voice timidly asking , “Can I keep it ?”

Francis nodded . When he turned towards him , he was already at his feet , clutching the sketch he had ripped away from the notebook . Richard looked at him - truly looked, he felt , maybe for the first time ever - and ,in an instant, turned on his heels and walked away. 

******

After almost a week without any news from Richard , Francis woke up to find a note , neatly folded and slipped through the mailbox , without an envelope - he must’ve dropped it off himself.

“I’m sorry”, it read, in Richard’s adorable clumsy handwriting .

“ Shouldn’t have run off . Meet me at The Heartland , tonight , 8 ? “  
*****

Francis wasn’t used to having clammy hands . He tried wiping the sweat off on a napkin . The waiter approached him for the third time , and put down the glass of beer he had ordered . It joined the two other full glasses .

“I don’t want to seem intrusive , but it looks like she isn’t going to show up,” he joked .

Francis forced out a smile and checked his pocket watch . 

Three quarters past eight .

“Can I wait some more ?”

The waiter shrugged . “You’re a paying customer. You can stay however long you want. But, from one man to another - waiting on a girl for hours is a bit of a bad look , isn’t it ?”

Francis didn’t return his smile . Instead , he produced a cigarette from his pocket . 

“You’re so talkative . No wonder why she’s dying to meet with you”, the waiter muttered sarcastically. He lost his smile when he caught Francis’ gaze , and finally left him .

What was Richard doing ?

Francis had done his best to keep himself busy and not think about him for the last week. It was harder than he thought - almost impossible, really , as if he had to learn how to live alone all over again - and it was scary , to realize how deeply Richard’s snubbing affected him . He didn’t want to worry , but deep inside of him , he knew he wouldn’t handle yet another rejection .

He kept thinking about what he had said , what seemed like an eternity ago : “You were just there.” And now , when he needed him perhaps the most , Richard wasn’t here - maybe it was a backwards way to make him understand . Francis knew he would never be able to take it back - it was one of his greatest griefs , especially now that he was so desperately trying to sort through his confused feelings . 

He thought about the saying , “You don’t realize how much someone meant to you until you lose them.” 

Had he lost Richard ? 

He was about to listen to the waiter’s advice and leave , when finally , like a gush of fresh air, Richard strolled in the crowded bar . He spotted Francis , who had already gotten up, and smiled .

The tidal wave of relief Francis felt forced him to sit down . 

“I’m so , so sorry - they kept me in at work for so long , I thought I’d never make it out . Truly the worst timing , again , I’m so-” 

He noticed the three untouched drinks .

“Have you been waiting for a long time ?”

“About an hour.” Richard opened his mouth , as to apologize again . “No , no , I know it wasn’t your fault.”

The irritating waiter appeared again . He looked dumbfounded , to Francis’ greatest satisfaction . Richard hastily waved him away , before chugging half of one of the beers . 

Then their eyes finally met . And for the first time Francis could remember , Richard held his gaze . 

“ I shouldn’t have run off” , he said . “ It was very rude of me , and inappropriate . I just couldn’t - I didn’t have the words for it . For what I wanted to tell you .”

He said it in a practiced manner , almost mechanical .

Francis wasn’t really surprised . He felt himself crumbling from the inside - he had been considering for days that Richard would reject him . He knew it was a possibility ; after all , he had rejected him twice already , and Francis should’ve taken the hint .

He started to apologize , and wanted to make sure they would stay friends - because although Francis still wasn’t sure of what he felt , he knew , deep down , that it wasn’t platonic , but he was also convinced that losing Richard altogether would be too painful .

He had already lost so many people - he couldn’t bear it anymore . 

But Richard held up his finger , and Francis stopped mid-sentence . He looked around - the bar was full , it was a friday evening , everything was loud and busy around them . Francis realized it meant no one would hear what they’d tell each other . Maybe it was the very reason why Richard had chosen that bar , on that night .

He noticed Richard leaning over , just slightly 

“ Nobody had ever … drawn me like that . I’m not used to it . I’m not used to people thinking I am worth anything , that someone would care so much that they’d embellish me like that ,” He said , so low that Francis had to get closer and focus to distinguish the words .

“I didn’t embellish you,” Francis replied in the same tone . “Richard - You are beautiful . If anything , as you said , I’m not a good enough artist to really give you justice .”

Richard smiled . It wasn’t his usual smiles : polite and repeated , meant to impress , or even the more flashy and spontaneous ones he’d spotted these past few weeks - it was , and Francis couldn’t quite believe it , a shy grin . Almost embarrassed .

“Francis,” he said , and Francis caught himself loving how he pronounced his name - “I want you to know that it’s all very .. new . To me . Or maybe not at all , maybe I’ve felt like this for longer than I realized , and refused to myself the luxury of putting any thought into my feelings . But you know - You’re so … Shameless . And experienced . I think it scares me a little , but I’ve come to terms with it .” He paused .

Francis waited impatiently , feeling in his stomach the tug of yearning - still refusing to fully grasp what Richard was saying , denying his luck .

“I want you to tell me , truthfully , even if the answer isn’t what you think I want to hear “ - Richard fiddled with his hands , and looked down , and whispered so low , in such a small murmur that if Francis hadn’t known the inflexions of his voice so well , he would’ve thought he misheard -

“ Francis , are you in love with me ?”

*****

When Francis was twelve years old , he asked his mother what being in love meant. He truly didn’t get it - all the boys around him were talking about the girls they fancied , and he just felt nothing for them . Sure , some girls were pretty . Was that what love meant ? Finding someone pretty ?  
His mother had frowned . “ Shouldn’t you know ? Aren’t you too old to ask ?”  
Francis had felt dumb , then . Really , he should know , right ?  
When she realized her mistake , his mom drew him to her , and started petting his hair, looking into the emptiness , the way he knew she did when she was thinking about his father.

“You’ll know when you’re in love,” she said . “You’ll feel it. It hurts . It feels like you’re missing a lung, like if the girl you love is far away for too long , you’d die.”

“It doesn’t sound nice, then,” He had answered.

He heard his mother sigh and smile . 

“It does , it does feel nice . Because when the girl loves you back , it feels like … everything , really. Like you’re whole again. And you know that as long as you love each other , nothing bad can happen , just for the fact that you’re together .”

Francis had looked up , then , and realized his mother was crying . 

“But you shouldn’t bother about that,” she added after drying away her tears. “You should focus on school , you hear me ? I don’t want you messing around with girls.”  
Many years later , Francis pointed out to himself that he had taken his mother’s advice quite literally - he had never truly allowed himself to bother about love - and had never messed around with girls.

He thought about the unshakeable feeling that something in him was missing - he’d attributed the yearning to grief . But as Richard pronounced the words , he realized he’d been wrong all along. 

Did he feel like he was missing a lung ? That if Richard walked away from him , he’d die ?  
The answer hit him all at once .

“Yes .”

*****

Richard’s smile was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen . Francis felt the urge to kiss him , right there and then , to forget about the entire world - because who else mattered , other than him ?

After yet another look around , Richard put his hand on top of Francis’ . 

It felt like everything.

*****

They were back at Central Park , on a sunny saturday . This time , Richard was on a day off, they had a full pic-nic , and Francis had brought his watercolors and fusain . Richard was posing extravagantly , trying to make Francis laugh by flipping imaginary hair over his shoulder, while he was sketching him - sometimes just a few lines , but it was enough to capture him . Anyone else would’ve guessed these were half-finished doodles , but Francis would recognize him in an instant .

The past week had been angelic. Francis caught himself acting like the love-stricken college couples he had so often made fun of : he’d call Richard at his work just to hear his voice, walk two extra miles with him just to be with him a little longer every day. They’d dine together , and talk until late at night , until Richard had to convince himself he had to go to sleep if he wanted to wake up early enough in the morning .

It felt so right , he realized . Francis did feel whole again - no , he felt better . It was like he’d been half blind his entire life , and now he could finally see and appreciate the world in all its fullness , its intensity. Like someone had turned a dial up , had made everything so much simpler, so much more beautiful .

He was still grieving - Richard had added so much to his life , to his senses , but he hadn’t taken anything away just yet - but it felt easier . A few days ago , as he was browsing through a used bookshop , he had found a copy of Henry’s translation of anacreon , and he’d felt the wave of grief physically , so strongly he had to hold to the shelves to not fall apart . That evening , he had ran to Richard’s flat as soon as he knew he’d be home, and hugged him - and Richard hugged him back , so tightly he thought his ribs would crack , but truly anchored him back into the world . He’d cried, too , soft and silent sobs, and Richard had rubbed his back before crying as well . They were truly pathetic , then , two grown men sobbing into each other’s arms , but Francis felt silently understood , free of shame and guilt.

He added a touch of color to his sketch before showing it to Richard , who was now sprawled onto the ground . 

“You’re getting better at drawing me,” he conceded. “But you should start drawing other subjects. If someone sees my apartment and realizes it’s covered with portraits of myself , they’ll think I’m a narcissist .” 

Francis smiled . 

“ There’s nothing wrong with appreciating your own beauty , you know . Besides , I don’t want to draw anyone else .” 

Richard propped himself on his elbows and looked at him. “ Even men more handsome than me ?”

“It wouldn’t matter . They wouldn’t be you .”

Richard smiled . Then , quickly , he leaned in and kissed him , before retreating , blushing all the way to his ears , as if intimidated by his own boldness . Francis still felt the tingle of his lips on his own .

“ In fact , I don’t think I want you to draw other men.”

“I won’t.” Francis smiled . “ I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to draw anyone but you.”

Richard’s smile was so wide and bright , Francis thought it would tear his face apart. He got on his feet and started to walk , before turning around and motioning to Francis to follow him . 

*****

They were a mess of tangled bedsheets in the late afternoon sun . Francis reached out and softly drew the outlines of Richard’s face with his finger - his eyes , his cheeks , along his jaw, all the way to the tip of his nose . He kissed him lazily . He felt safe , tucked in his arms - although they were both defenseless , although he knew he shared all his fears -but together, they were stronger . Unstoppable .

“It’s the first time , you know ,” Richard started .

Francis propped himself on an elbow . “ Don’t tell me you were a virgin. “  
“No - not -” He let out a chuckle . “With a man . It’s my first time with a man .”

“Is it any different than with women ?”

“Wouldn’t you know ?”

Francis shook his head .

“It’s always been men.”

“I guess they’re smaller . Their lips are softer.”

“Is this a backhanded way of telling me to buy chapstick ?”

Richard’s laugh resonated through the tiny room .

“Possibly . You should change cologne , too , you smell too much like me.”

It was Francis’ turn to laugh . He burrowed his face in Richard’s shoulder .

*****

This was so easy , he thought. Loving Richard felt so easy .  
If only it could last forever .  
In his wildest hopes , it would ; Richard would never have to go back to Hampden , he would never have to leave him . Francis thought about this moment - laughing with the man he loved , in this bar where no one would as much as blink if they kissed , and wished it could go on forever . But already he could feel the time slipping from his fingers like sand - the calendar pinned to the wall , painfully reminding him they were nearly toppling into August , that at a moment’s notice , in now less than four weeks , Richard would have to pack and go. 

Francis couldn’t go back to Hampden . He couldn’t bring himself to . Even the thought of staying at the country house made him nauseous . Richard understood , and they’d talked about it , him assuring he would send letters , call , visit as often as possible .

But Francis knew it couldn’t last . He hated himself for constantly thinking about it . His grandfather was already harassing him again - apparently , to him , a few months were enough to mourn , and he now must start looking for a wife again . 

Deep down , Francis hoped that he would walk on them , and that the shock of seeing his grandson with a man would make his heart stop , and he wouldn’t be a problem anymore . But he had been surrounded by death enough to last a lifetime .

And then Richard caught his gaze , and smiled , and reached out to arrange a loose strand of hair behind his ear , and everything felt right in the world again .

*****

The plan had been Richard’s idea . It seemed crazy , and unachievable , but Francis agreed anyway - what did he have to lose , anyway ? 

They didn’t even have to explain themselves to Camilla . She was visiting them, officially to help Richard pack , but really to escape Virginia and Charles . Seeing each other had been a bit more tedious, and inevitably , Camilla surprised them - she’d come back to Richard’s apartment earlier than planned .  
She had simply smiled , and said “Took you long enough,” and Francis realized for the first time how amazing it felt , to love and not be afraid. 

Richard had then sat her down , and detailed his idea : how it could allow them to stay together, and end Francis’ grandfather’s suspicions. It was all too good to be true - and Francis kept repeating that he wouldn’t mind at all if Camilla refused , that they were asking her something he knew was enormous , that she shouldn’t feel pressured into accepting .

But she had smiled again . “ Of course I’ll do it . I don’t want to be left alone , anyway . It’ll be fun.” 

And Francis realized how deeply he had wanted this , how this slight possibility of a happy future - at least for the next few years - filled him with unfathomable joy .

They decided to celebrate - bought expensive champagne and chinese take-out food , and walked all the way to Central Park , to what had become their spot . They talked about the technical aspects of their idea - Where they would live , how would they pay rent , to what extent they’d entertain the illusion - but ended up too tipsy to think about it.

Instead , they recited to each other broken bits of poetry , half-forgotten verses they slurred with a terrible drunken accent .- and Richard reached out and kissed him . A real kiss , this time, without even checking if anyone could spot them , and even Camilla let out a huff of surprise . 

Francis wanted this to never stop - and the prospect of everything indeed never stopping , of the many drunken evenings and kisses to come , of the fact that Richard was his , that they would be together for so much longer than he could have dreamt - made him finally realize.

He felt as if had finally found what he had been looking for his entire life - and for the first time in what seemed like forever, there wasn’t anywhere else - or anyone else - he’d wish to be .


End file.
